


When the Dumb Collide

by whatthefridge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefridge/pseuds/whatthefridge
Summary: Jackson and Stiles begrudgingly put up with one another. But how begrudging is it really?





	When the Dumb Collide

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a [prompt ask on Tumblr](http://fanfictionfridge.tumblr.com/post/180973160967/okay-so-stackson-thoughts-on-them-begrudgingly): "Okay, so Stackson thoughts on them begrudgingly saving each other, then regrouping/recovering after a fight, then realizing they're not actually so "begrudgingly" friends, and then it's "why are we so close to each other right now?" And then..."

The hunters had the pack surrounded.

Jackson just barely ducked in time as a bullet zipped past his face, scraping his cheek in the process. It could have easily been a headshot. He was getting sloppy.

It was the fourth ambush this month, and exhaustion was affecting everyone on the front lines. 

Scott, Derek, Liam, and Isaac caught up in their own hand-to-hand combat all around him. Kira and Malia were nowhere to been seen. 

Too much adrenaline coursed through him to worry about whether any wolfsbane had seeped past its casing. 

They had yet to figure out who was sending these assholes. The only thing they’d gleaned out of the last three assaults was that these hunters weren’t professionals, just grunts for hire. And whatever connections were hooking them up with wolfsbane were so obfuscated with middle men that it kept leading to dead ends, and in this case, yet another attack. 

The pack had entered this warehouse with a plan. A plan that involved Stiles as their lookout.

Jackson sets his sights on the hunter nearest him. The asshole’s aim was too good, and Jackson was losing distance instead of gaining any. He hoped for an opportunity when the gun ran out of bullets, but the hunter had a second loaded firearm ready.

Out of nowhere came a _thunk_ sound as Stiles slammed his metal bat into the hunter’s back. The brief distraction was enough of an opening, and Jackson dashed forward, slashing at the hunter’s face and knocking him out.

“You can thank me at any time,” Stiles said.

“I’m not about to thank you for getting in my way.”

Another hunter snuck his way to Stiles’s side, knife in hand. And knowing their luck, it was laced with wolfsbane too.

Jackson had only a second to lament Stiles’s liability as he lunged forward, grappling the hunter. So he’d swung wide, only snagging the fabric of Stiles’s shirt and not drawing any blood. 

The flash of satisfaction got replaced with the sudden realization that the hunter was about to turn his knife back on Jackson.

Jackson cursed under his breath when another _thunk_ and a sick cracking sound had the man screaming in recoil. Stiles’s bat landed right on the hunter’s forearm, breaking the bone. 

Jackson elbowed the guy in the face, the snap of his nose adding to the damage as the hunter dropped to the ground. He slammed the heel of his shoe onto the man’s right hand for good measure. 

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said smugly.

“I wouldn’t _need_ the help if you weren’t such a—” Jackson didn’t get a chance to finish when Stiles’s eyes widened as he threw himself at Jackson, the momentum sending Jackson several steps backward. A red laser dot and subsequent bullet passed by in front of him as his mouth dropped.

Stiles sucked in a harsh breath. “Fuck my life.”

The stench of blood was everywhere, but Jackson’s nose picked up Stiles’s scent above it all. He found Stiles’s calf bleeding out as Stiles faltered in his step. Without thinking, Jackson hooked Stiles’s arm over his shoulder for support. His fingers brushed Stiles’s elbow and Stiles moaned as the pain rose up Jackson’s hand in black veins.

“Dumbass,” Jackson muttered. “Should have stayed in the car.”

“As though any of you saw my texts about the gunners at the windows.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. He’d noted the buzzing in his pocket about moments before the suspiciously empty warehouse turned into a war zone. 

Ultimately, Lydia’s sonic screams were able to handle the guys at the windows. Kira and Malia appeared around a stack of crates, Kira’s sword and Malia’s claws both covered in blood.

Liam was hunched over catching his breath while Derek punched out the guy they’d fought.

“Is that everyone?” Scott asked, eyes lit in the same stark red as the blood on his skin as he finished disarming and knocking down his own hunter. 

“Yeah,” Derek replied, blue eyes dimming to their natural hue. He grabbed his still-breathing hostage and shucked him over his shoulder. 

Stiles had the duct tape in his Jeep, but when he insisted on walking there on his own, he almost keeled over. Which meant Jackson had to help him limp his way back to the car. 

The pack set to work binding up the group of men at the warehouse to take back to their improvised interrogation room a floor below Derek’s loft. 

Once that was done with, the pack settled in the loft itself to debrief. Scott, having the most medical experience, checked over everyone, deeming that Stiles’s calf wound looked worse than it actually was. Jackson felt some of the tension leave his chest at the news

Malia and Isaac arrived with the Chinese food as Derek finished brewing the coffee. 

The next two hours were spent getting the hunters to talk, gathering information on a fresh lead.

The rest of the night involved planning out their next approach. 

Derek had had his loft expanded to include a second bathroom and the two guest bedrooms with their individual king-sized beds. The pack was used to sharing their personal space by now, and the non-humans actually preferred it. Something about the companionship and pack bonds and other things Jackson didn’t really care about. 

Stiles was already passed out on one of the beds when Jackson curled up next to him. It didn’t mean anything. The other pack members would join them soon, filling up the bed with bodies. Except lately Jackson had too much anxiety to sleep properly, not unless he was pressed up to Stiles. And Stiles’s own anxious scent became slightly sweeter at the contact, even now with him passed out and unaware.

The following morning was a familiar routine, with Stiles waking up first and Jackson waking up from Stiles fidgeting and the two of them grumbling about the bed being overly crowded because why else would Stiles’s back be plastered to Jackson’s chest.

It was only when Scott reluctantly rolled out of bed that the rest of them followed.

Stiles made grabby hands in Scott’s direction. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” Scott glanced at Jackson, who hadn’t moved from the position he’d woken up in. “You want anything, Jackson?”

Jackson wasn’t sure why Scott offered. It wasn’t as though Jackson’s injuries hadn’t healed. He could easily get up and join everyone else in the common room where breakfast was being served and new plans drawn up, not here with Stiles, who wasn’t even that grievously injured.

He mumbled a “No, thanks” under his breath, still loud enough for the other werewolf to hear.

The moment Scott was out of the room, Stiles wriggled to his back so he could give Jackson a look. “So you can thank him, but you can’t thank me.”

Jackson glowered. “Maybe you should thank _me_ for saving your ass when you weren’t even supposed to be there. Are you _trying_ to get me in trouble?”

If Stiles got badly wounded on Jackson’s watch, Scott would never forgive him. And Jackson had had his fill of being a lone wolf. He couldn’t lose this pack because of Stiles’s recklessness. Why couldn’t Stiles get that?

Stiles’s face was entirely too close to Jackson’s. How did they even get here? “Oh, you fucking know you’re grateful I arrived when I did.” He pointed to Jackson’s cheek. “I saw that bullet pass by your head.”

“Well, I’m fine now. It healed.”

“And what if it didn’t?” Stiles’s voice cracked. “What if we lost you?” 

Jackson narrowed his eyes and looked away. “You’d probably throw a celebration.”

“You…” Stiles groaned in annoyance. “You seriously still think I hate you?”

“No,” Jackson spat out. “But I’ve seen the looks you give me whenever I’m around Lydia. Even though I _told you_ she and I aren’t getting back together. God, just ask her out already. I’m sure she’ll say yes now, and then you can stop giving off that pathetic ‘I can never have her’ scent.”

“You think this is about Lydia?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. He didn’t like how this conversation caused knots in his stomach. “Why else would you be trying so hard to show off? You’re so fucking obvious.”

“I’m _what_?” Stiles exclaimed, his face turning beet red.

“You heard me. About as subtle as a splinter.”

“You know what,” Stiles said assuringly. “I do still hate you”

“As if—” Jackson was cut off by Stiles’s mouth crashing against his own. 

It was over as quickly as it began, and Stiles leaned back on his elbow, his expression as shocked as Jackson felt. “Okay, that wasn’t…” Stiles started, “we’re not…”

“Thanks,” Jackson said, the knot unwinding in his stomach. He couldn’t put his finger on why. But kissing Stiles back was more important than trying to decipher it. Tasting him, feeling Stiles’s growing erection against his thigh.

They both jumped when the door to the room slammed open.

“No,” Derek announced in response to something Scott said. “Not when _I’m_ the one who’s going to have to do the laundry if they keep going like this.” Derek pointed at Jackson and Stiles as Scott sheepishly appear behind him, holding up his hands. “Kitchen. Now.” 

Jackson huffed as his heart thundered louder than when he’d faced death itself. “Whatever.” It wasn’t like they couldn’t continue later at his place, where they’d have actual privacy.

They still needed to solve the hunter problem. And maybe after… he’d think about after _after_.


End file.
